What's Done is Done
by HermitKnut
Summary: What had it all been for, when it came to it? To stop people being killed? Admittedly, many more would have died had the war not ended when it did; but the bloodbath that had already occurred seemed to render that academic, at best.


What's Done is Done

Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic, rested his head in his hands for a moment in exasperation. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't concentrate on the report he was supposed to be reading. He sighed, and watched the various witches and wizards buzzing around the room, each united in the solemnity of the occasion. Scrimgeour had declared the Union to Prevent Magical Calamity – better known to the wizard on the street as the Catastrophe Council – to be in session after the horrific double attack three days ago. After two months of almost no activity, the Death Eaters had stormed two places simultaneously: The head-quarters of the Order of the Phoenix in London and the Weasley family home in Ottery St Catchpole. The Order had been in mid-meeting and caught completely by surprise; Scrimgeour listed the deaths in his mind, remembering the bland announcement on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Bill and Fleur Weasley, savagely attacked by Fenrir Greyback, later died as a result.

Minerva McGonagall, bled to death after use of the _sectumsempra _curse.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, killed by an as yet unidentified curse.

Molly and Arthur Weasley, tortured by the killers of Gideon and Fabian Prewett, then murdered.

Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge and Mundungus Fletcher; all killed in battle.

Alastor Moody, finally murdered by the killing curse when outnumbered five to one.

Remus Lupin, kidnapped; body later found brutally mutilated.

Nymphadora Tonks, killed trying to prevent the kidnap of Remus Lupin.

Rubeus Hagrid, hit with multiple Killing Curses.

Charlie Weasley; captured and forced to heal those Death Eaters wounded in the attack, before being tortured and killed along with Hestia Jones.

The attack on The Burrow had been kept quiet from the public, only released as 'a minor attack resulting in four deaths and one hospitalisation'. Only those in the upper circle of the ministry knew differently. And only the twelve members of the Union (comprising of the heads of department and representatives from several other major organisations) knew what had actually occurred. Scrimgeour closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, giving up on his struggle with the report. He had been to St Mungo's the day after, to speak to the survivor, but very little had come of it. Fred Weasley had been declared clinically insane.

The lights dimmed suddenly. Everyone in the room stopped moving as they stared at the candles, flickering as though a dark wind had swept the room. One of the apparation spots began to glow, and the people around it raised their wands. Suddenly a figure appeared, cloaked. He turned and lowered his hood.

Harry Potter stepped off of the apparation spot, seemingly oblivious to the people around him moving slightly out of his way as he walked towards Scrimgeour. He must have known what he looked like, but he didn't seem to have the energy to care. He ignored the blood from the violent gash on his cheek as it dripped down his neck, and focused on controlling his steps. He reached the Minister's desk, and stopped. Reaching into his robes with his left hand, he brought out a long, yew wand and put it down on the desk.

"I keep my promises."

The Minister felt as though all the air had left his lungs. He knew what that meant. _He's done it…he's killed him…he's ended it…_

He swallowed back the rush of questions that he knew he would never know the answers to as Potter began to walk back the way he had came, but there was one thing that he had to say.

"Potter!"

The boy stopped, but did not turn around.

"Yes?"

The minister knew he only had one chance to get this right.

"There's always a choice," he said. The room was silent, and he could see the expressions of confusion on everyone's faces – everyone's except Potter's. Scrimgeour didn't have to explain – Potter would understand exactly what he meant.

"I know." The boy-who-lived turned to look straight into Scrimgeour's eyes. "This is mine." He left the same way he had entered, and slowly the talking returned. For a moment, Scrimgeour didn't move. _Should I follow? _But he knew he would not. He had no right to. He pulled himself together, and called two of his Heads of Department to him.

"Ernest, get the word out. No-one is to leave their homes. I want the shops closed, no trains running, no portkeys or floo network for the next four days. Anyone caught apparating will be taken to a holding cell until we can confirm their identity and intentions. I don't want any movement in this country until we can locate the rest of his followers." Scrimgeour turned to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. "Thaddeus, organise teams of all capable witches and wizards to help the search. Put at least two professionals in each group." Thaddeus nodded, and left to begin his task. As Scrimgeour sat down in his chair, a polite voice from behind him asked,

"What are we looking for, sir? Apart from the Death Eaters, I mean." Scrimgeour turned. Percy Weasley was hovering over his shoulder. The young man had returned to work the day after the funeral. Scrimgeour had not questioned him about it.

"Mr Glennon told me to ask you, sir." _Thaddeus. I should have made myself clearer, he never was too bright._

"The body," Scrimgeour replied. Percy nodded.

"Right, sir."

He was about to leave again when Scrimgeour stopped him.

"Actually, Weasley?"

"Sir?"

Scrimgeour sighed.

"Make that two bodies."

Percy looked puzzled.

"Whose?"

Everyone was going about their business, but Scrimgeour knew they were all listening.

"Voldemort's and Potter's."

There was a pause. Scrimgeour thought that Percy had left until he heard, very quietly,

"Yes sir."

The Minister for Magic leant back in his chair and closed his eyes again. What had it all been for, when it came to it? To stop people being killed? Admittedly, many more would have died had the war not ended when it did; but the bloodbath that had already occurred seemed to render that academic, at best. He rubbed his tired eyes. The deadened gaze of the now deceased Harry James Potter stared through him beneath his closed lids. Had he been right to let the boy go? Knowing from that one look what he was about to do? He pushed the thought from his mind. He had a job to do, a world to rebuild. He turned over a new sheet of parchment and paused for a moment in thought before he wrote the first words of his speech to the Wizarding World:

"_What's done is done…"_


End file.
